Jane Jago’s Daily Drabble – One Hundred and Eleven

He chose her because she was obviously drunk. Walking her home his mouth watered and he caressed the rope in his pocket.

Once in her modest apartment, he grasped her wrists and held them over her head. She giggled and nuzzled his neck. He smiled inwardly – this was going to be too easy.

Keeping her wrists in one hand he used the other to grope for his coil of oiled sisal.

He was so intent that he didn’t hear a heavy step behind him or feel the blow that stoved in his skull…

The leather-clad executioner spat. 

“One down.”

©️jj 2018

 

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